Fetching News from the Fur Side
Just thought it was time for a dog update—because if I don’t talk about the dogs, who will?
Carmen:
She’s doing great, though we’ve taken a little break from agility training. Not because she isn’t capable (she could crush a Border Collie in a footrace), but because she’s stuck with me as a handler. Turns out agility requires the human to be just as coordinated as the dog. Who knew? Carmen is two steps ahead of me at all times, and I’m over here trying to remember which hand has the treat in it. So instead, I’m teaching her some show-off tricks and keeping her active with the ol’ “Chuck-It and Chase” routine. She bolts up the driveway, sometimes takes a scenic detour—perhaps to reflect on the meaning of life—and then returns triumphant with the ball.
At the lake house, I chuck the ball into the water and she’s all in—big splash, big energy, big bath afterwards. Strangely, she won’t touch the pool. She loves water, hates the deep end. Will not step off that top stair like it’s lava. So, I bought a dog ramp, which I’m introducing slowly, like it’s a new roommate we’re not sure about yet.
Samson:
Still convinced he’s part Muppet, part medical mystery. He’s a lovable mess, but we got good news from the cardiologist—his numbers look great! Basically, his heart is holding strong post-surgery. However, because Samson is nothing if not committed to living that high-maintenance lifestyle, he needed knee surgery next. So now he’s got a $5,000 knee, which frankly should come with a monogram and its own orthopedic pillow.
The hope is that this new bionic knee helps him avoid surgery on the other one. Honestly, between the heart, the nose, and now the knee, we’re basically building a brand-new dog one part at a time. But he’s still the sweetest guy ever. He’s been enjoying some spa time at Abbie’s house, away from Carmen and Freddie. He loves his pack, but running with Carmen (who’s older but has the resting heart rate of a monk and the joints of a teenager) is not great for his recovery plan. At Abbie’s, he’s living his best prince life, likely asking for breakfast in bed and refusing to walk on wet grass.
Freddie:
Where do I begin? Freddie is a full-throttle Frenchie: goofball, cuddle bug, stress ball. He joined us in October thanks to a SC lawyer connection, and from the moment he trotted into the house, I knew I was a foster fail (again). Six months later, he’s officially a McGowan and totally obsessed with balls. (He wants to be just like Carmen.) He carries one around like it’s his emotional support orb and then sprints after Carmen like he’s retrieving, but spoiler: he is not retrieving. He’s just vibing.
The issue? He jumps off furniture like a cannonball with legs. His coordination is… aspirational. We’ve nicknamed him “The Meat Missile.” I swear he’s going to launch himself through drywall one of these days.
My only wish? That he’d chill on walks. If he sees another dog, he loses his mind trying to prove he’s a big dog in a little dog body. Suddenly I’m in a tug-of-war with a greased bowling ball while Carmen joins in for backup. It’s less of a walk and more of a traveling circus act. Pretty sure the neighbors think I’m filming a reality show they weren’t cast in.
Life Lately:
Because of the heat, we’re out the door by 7 AM. Freddie gets a short loop, then Carmen and I push on if the humidity isn’t trying to murder us. It’s become our little summer ritual.
So the kids are good, the dogs are good, and I’m a happy mama.